i was made to love you
by FirstHeartBroken
Summary: he's pinning you against the wall and kissing you furiously and when he blurts out 'I love you' you're frozen. Then he's angry because he hates when you hold back. He calls you a coward and he calls you selfish... but your walls are impenetrable.


**Summary: **He's pinning you against the wall and kissing you furiously and when he blurts out 'I love you' you're frozen. Then he's angry because he hates when you hold back. He calls you a coward and he calls you selfish... but your walls are impenetrable.  
**Pairing: **Temperance Brennan and Seeley Booth (of course)  
**Genre: **Angst (seriously. heart-aching goodness)  
**Rating: **M for goodness of the citrusy kind.  
**Set: **No season in particular, maybe an alternate 5.  
**POV: **2nd person, on Temperance Brennan ("Bones")  
**Disclaimer: **Own nothing, of course. Just a few David Boreanaz posters from his 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer' days.

* * *

**I Was Made to Love You_  
_**

You're a mess of tangled limbs as you both stumble through the doorway, your foot slamming the door shut.

A harsh mixture of lips, tongues, teeth and hands, there's nothing gentle about this. Now you feel nothing and everything all at once.

His cologne snakes its way up your nose as his mouth slants almost viciously over yours. Your tongues explore each others mouths and he's walking you backwards, your hands clawing at the shoulders of his suit jacket. Your eyes are screwed shut and you're not breathing and all you can feel is him. His roaming hands, his expressive tongue, his grinding hips... it's almost too much.

For once in your life, you're being irrational and you're not listening to the voice of reason at the back of your mind - telling you that this is wrong. You're not being logical. You're not thinking about consequences. You're just enjoying how violently he's kissing you, your gasping breaths dancing together in the small space between your lips whenever you briefly separate for air.

He pants your name as you push the jacket from his shoulders, discarding it in a heap on the floor. His fleeting touch leaves goosebumps on your skin as your hands dip into his pants and you grip his belt, almost as if you need to steady yourself. Your traitor heart is beating so hard you're surprised it's not breaking your chest, but then you curse yourself for being so irrational. Your throat's constricting from the lack of air and you have to break away, bowing your head and panting greedily. He mimicks your actions and leans his forehead against yours and you're secretly pleased that this is affecting him as much as it's affecting you.

Suddenly, he's dipping his head and his tongue is doing wonderful things to your neck. You tip your head to the side, eyes closed and mouth open, as small, gentle nips turn into excited, ferocious bites. He's pushing you back again and you ungracefully trip over your own feet but before you can fall, your back collides with the wall of your apartment.

You gasp at the viciousness of it all and his eyes are nearly black, swimming with nothing but pure, unadulterated lust. You make quick work of his charismatic belt, pulling it through the loops and throwing it to the side as the 'click' from the buckle hitting the floor breaks the silence. His body is warm and _right _against yours and you jump up, tightly wrapping your legs around his waist. You're gasping and he's panting as his nimble fingers reach behind your back and slide the zipper of your dress south. The expensive fabric soon takes its place next to his belt and jacket on the floor.

The instant his hands touch your naked back, you cry into his mouth and pull him closer, as if to swallow him whole, and he moans back while shedding himself of his shirt. Your chest is rising and falling with your labored breaths and you reach for his pants, but he grabs your wrists and pins them above your head, roughly.

You open your mouth to protest - he's a fan of _making love _and doesn't agree with dominance and you don't like being manhandled - but your voice soon resorts to a breathy moan as his hips thrust against yours. The hand, that isn't holding your wrists in place, cup your bra-less chest as your nipples harden under his touch, your head tipping back and resting on the wall. He's rough and his touch is almost angry. You're not surprised. You knew that mentioning your re-kindled relationship (if you can call it that) with Agent Sullivan would mess with his head, but you did it anyway. You don't know whether it was out of courtesy, brashness or just pure malice... but you told him, knowing he wouldn't like it. Maybe, subconsciously, you knew he would act like this. Maybe _this _is what you wanted.

And as you feel him rock hard under your elevated body, you realise that...

... you are _not _a good person. Maybe you never were.

He's creating some glorious friction and you're afraid that you'll come right there. You're afraid because you don't like the way he's affecting you, these feelings are too strong.

He lets go of your wrists and you freeze at the sound of fabric tearing. You feel a rush of fresh air hit your nether regions and you roll your eyes. He's such a caveman sometimes.

Before you can protest again, he's swiftly pulling down his pants and boxers and entering you in one hard, long thrust. You gasp in surprise, your eyes rolling back as he slams back into you, his brow furrowed in concentration.

"Not mine." He hisses, returning your wrists to their previous place above your head.

You moan in approval, your body clamping around him, "Not yours."

His eyes flash with fury and hurt and suddenly he's pounding furiously. You're lost in feeling, wild animal like grunts emanating from your throat. It's building. Everything's building. Touch, feeling, taste, sound. You have to give him that. He's talented - he knows how to make you scream.

Which, at this point, you do.

Loudly.

As you come down from your abyss, you can already feel the pressure building again and you wonder if it's even _possible_ to be this turned on moments after an orgasm. Your chest is heaving with your out of control panting, your legs tightening around him.

Everything burns; everything pulses hotter than before and he's murmuring: "Not mine." again.

"Not _mine._" and with that he pushes hard back in, knocking the breath right out of you.

Your hips rub against his, searching frantically for just that little bit more friction.

Your body is clenching again, but this time it's different. This time he when he moves, your whole world moves with him. He plunges towards and you push into. In and out and in and out, every thrust hitting something only he can.

His lips never leave your ear.

With every push inside you, "Not mine."

With every hip jerking pull out, "Not mine."

"Not yours, not yours, not yours." You mumble over and over, in time with every thrust, and you're breathless and he's panting and you're both deliciously furious.

He tilts his hips and pounds you into the wall and due to the new angle, an unintentional whimper escapes your throat - one so erotic, mixed with ache and pleasure - that you have to squeeze your eyes shut and concentrate on breathing. He buries his face in the side of your neck as you beg for him to go harder. His tongue lightly sponges the kisses he leaves behind, tasting the unique delicacy of your glowing skin. His dewy lips nuzzle the softness and your eyes roll to the back of your head, your eyelids fluttering.

_Oh God._

He refuses to say anything. Trailing the hand - that isn't pinning you to the wall - tantalizingly - seductively - lower to where you are joined as one, he lets that do the talking. You let out a low hiss, your eyelids slamming shut as he plays with your clit. You're overcome with heat, as if you're being caressed by the devil himself.

The tension's building and by the look of frustration gracing his face, you know he's close. You're both so close. He's pinning you harder against the wall and kissing you furiously and when he comes and blurts out 'I love you' you're frozen.

You don't know why, but your body involuntarily reacts and those three words are the thing that brings you over the edge.

You'll deny it to yourself later... but that doesn't change the fact.

"Get off me," You whisper, but he looks confused and torn and he doesn't move.

"Let go of me!" You shout and he does, afraid he's hurting you. Your tired legs slide from his waist and your wrists are burning from the loss of his fingers. You're sore and confused and you stubbornly blink back tears as he steps away from you, his eyes wide with recognition.

"I think you should go." You whisper, suddenly feeling self-conscious and completely shaken by his revelation.

He shakes his head, "No. No, we need to talk about this."

You shake your head and he swiftly pulls up his boxers and pants, standing shirtless before you. You immediately miss the sight of him, because you know that you probably won't ever see it again. You don't really know how to feel about that.

You lean down, picking your dress up and sliding it over your legs and shoulders, leaving it unzipped. Your underwear and his shirt and jacket are still laying discarded on the floor, but that doesn't really matter. Something tells you that this won't be a short talk.

"Bones." The way your name falls from his lips sounds like a prayer, a raspy and familiar welcome home, and you're ashamed of what you're about to do.

"You- you need to leave." Your voice is shaking from all sorts of emotions that you don't want to acknowledge, and you practically run into the bathroom.

You stand in-front of the body length mirror and even though you know he's followed you, you're surprised when two arms wrap around your waist from behind. He leans down and places his chin on your shoulder. Such an intimate gesture stuns you as you lift your head and look in the mirror, shocked by how perfect a picture you see. Your fingers itch to rest on top of his, but you fight that urge and keep them clamped to the side of your loose dress. Burying his face in your thick curls, he inhales deeply and closes his eyes - arms tightening around your waist.

"We could be happy," You hear him whisper, his mouth grazing your ear sensually as you bite your lip, your expression blank, "I can make you happy." He adds softly, his warm eyes connecting with yours in the mirror's reflected image of the two of you. His eyes shine with tender promises - genuine promises, and you want to comfort him... but you just don't know how.

You wonder if he's even thinking about what just happened. A noble and loyal man, you used to think that Seeley Booth would never - _never - _cheat. But, now, he has and he doesn't even look guilty about it. You feel disappointed in him, annoyed that he would stoop that low because he's _better _than that. But mostly you're ashamed of yourself... ashamed that you've brought such a good person down to your level.

"Tell me you don't feel it, Bones. Tell me that when you look at me, feel my hands on you, my lips on you... you feel nothing." He loosens his arms and you take advantage, slipping out from under him and turning around, your eyes meeting.

Blue on brown - that undeniable electricity is _still_ there.

You stare him down, your eyes blank and your expression vacant. "I feel nothing." You say it clearly and without fault, because even though it's meant to be a lie... you're not too sure. For a while now, you've come to realize that everyone you love leaves you. Mom and Dad fled. Russ ran. Sully sailed. Due to the brain tumor, even Booth went away for a little while. It's a hard reality and you wonder if you can really live in this world if these are the choices. When everything just gets stripped away and you really do feel nothing.

"Fine. I don't believe you, but fine." He shrugs lightly and you frown, "Now tell me that you don't love me." You bite your lip and before you can even answer, he shakes his head, "No, no, better question. Tell me you love him." It saddens you, that he can't bring himself to speak the name of someone he once thought of as a friend.

"I love Sully." You speak almost robotically, as if it's expected of you.

Those words cut him deeper than any physical wound he's suffered in the army even though he knows that: "You're lying."

You think that's unfortunate, how much he knows you.

"We're_ friends_, Booth." The word sounds wrong, "Partners." It's the same old mantra you've been using for years, the one Angela and Hodgins are tired of.

"We haven't been just friends in a long time." he says.

"The line..."

"Fuck the line." He spits and you withdraw a sharp breath, shocked to hear a curse fall from his lips.

It's an excuse you've both been using for years. You're not partners, you've never been just partners - you're so much more. The stupid line that he so regrets putting in place was crossed a long while ago, the way he feels about you was never platonic.

His eyes lighten and he walks towards you - soft, silent steps that completely contradict the harsh pounding of his nervous heart. He wraps his arms around your waist and you don't push him away, because you need this. You need this because in the midst of all the murder, confusion and heartache, you've kind of forgotten how it feels to be loved. He leans down and places a small, feather light kiss on your shoulder and you close your eyes, your head tipping to the side.

"I know that I don't have much to offer you," He lips graze your ear and you tighten your closed eyes, "I know that we're friends and I'm ruining this... but it's just how I feel. I love you, Bones. I want to be with you now and next year and whatever comes after that. We've been through everything together, as friends, and you've seen the worst of me. I'm hurt and broken and a complete son of a bitch for hauling all my guilt onto you but I will give you everything I have left - my heart, my body and soul. Whatever hasn't been taken, whatever is left of me.. I'm yours."

His speech actually causes a strong tightening in your chest and you suddenly feel like you can't breathe.

"Booth..." You finally build the courage to look at him and you gently push him away, ignoring how your body immediately grieves the loss of his warmth, "I'm sorry." You whisper, "...I can't."

After a few moments of awkward, unbearable silence, you reach out for him again. He's enveloped by a different kind of anger - one not fuelled by rage, but bitterness. He quickly slaps your arms away, turning and walking swiftly to the door, his whole body feeling heavy and broken and so damn tired.

"Booth!" You should just let him go, but you call for him because you have to make this right. He's your friend and you feel so strongly for him, you don't know how to handle it. You don't know if you love him, you're not sure if you're even capable of such an emotion. All you know is that you've never felt this way about anyone before... and it scares the shit out of you.

You watch him turn around, shaking his head with a sigh because if you don't want to be with him, then nothing you have to say means anything anymore. There's really no point in listening - it'll only break him that much more.

If you didn't know him so well, you might not have even realized that he was angry at you. But, truth is, you do know him. Better than anyone. You can tell that he's frustrated by the way his jaw is tightened and his hands are kept as fists by his side. You shouldn't notice such trivial things... but you do. Surely that must mean something?

He wants to hear that you need him... like he needs you. He wants to know why you can be with Sully, but not him. He's hurt, wondering what the agent has that he doesn't. Doesn't Booth know? Doesn't he realize that Sully never even stood a chance? Your heart, whatever is left of it, has always belonged to him. That revelation frightens you and you're too scared to open up and let him in. So you'll stay with Agent Sullivan because he's good for you and because he doesn't carry the baggage of over 50 taken lives and an infant son and an army background. You'll let him shower you with praise and affection, because you know that _when _he leaves, you won't be too broken. Booth's hurt you too many times, albeit unintentionally, but the last few months have been absolute hell for you.

You remember sitting by his bedside, holding his hand and willing him to come back to you. You remember the unbearable pain that surged through every part of you body, seeping into your bones. You vowed that you would never have to go through that again. Alone was better. You'll never truly be with Sully, you'll always be withdrawn, always feeling alone. With Booth, it's quick and furious and fucking wonderful. With Sully it's gentle, kind and _safe _and although he'll never make you happy like Booth can, you'll be content enough. He can't offer you the security of a nice, stable relationship. He'll always be Special Agent Seeley Booth - troubled former sniper. That'll never change. Sully's a good man who'll take care of you and that's what you need right now.

"Booth... I'm sorry." You tell him. You're sorry because although part of you wants it, you just can't give yourself to him. There's not enough of you left _to _give. It's just too much to ask.

"That doesn't really matter now, does it, Temperance?" The name sounds weird and wrong on his tongue but he can't even bring himself to use the nickname he's so fond of.

You try to ignore the sound of your name falling from his lips, though it cuts you deeper than you'd like, "No, I don't suppose it does." You whisper, your face showing no emotion.

He scoffs in disbelief and walks to the door, mirroring his previous actions but he gets further this time. His hand reaches for the door handle before a soft voice invades his senses.

"Don't go." You try once more and it's hard for you to put yourself out there.

Little do you know, those were the last words you'll ever speak to him. You're not aware of it now, but tomorrow he'll go to the bureau and he'll resign. He'll give up because he can't bear to be so close to you but not really have you. He won't ask for another partner because he knows that when he looks at him or her all he'll see is you. You've taken everything he has and there's simply nothing left.

"Why on Earth would I stay?" He whispers, shrugging with a small, sad smile on his face. Later on you'll gain some perspective and wish that you could go back to this moment and do it all over again. You'll search all over for him because you'll realize that he was right all along - that you did love him and all you ever wanted was him. You'll desperately wish that you had fought for him, but it'll be too late and you'll never find him. Of course, there's no way you can know this now. So, unaware of what you're losing, you watch - helpless - as he walks out of your life.


End file.
